


land on you like a sucker punch

by noirheart (Flumes)



Series: welcome to the new frontier [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Minghao is in Denial™, Mingyu is a chef, Organized Crime, Seventeen are a rising gang, Unbeta'd, Violence, a lil side WonHui, very vague sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flumes/pseuds/noirheart
Summary: Minghao should have heeded his own warning. He should have seen the call from Jun and hardened his heart to old times. He should have told him and his offer to go fuck themselves and hit the road like he always does. He certainly should have got out after he took Mingyu home that night, high on the rush of the wind in his hair and Mingyu’s warmth seeping into his bones.





	land on you like a sucker punch

Few of Minghao’s shirts have collars. It’s a small thing but if he really thinks about it, it’s just another way of saying he doesn’t like ties. He doesn’t like anything that holds him down; anything that takes longer than slipping the shirt over his head is too much effort. On the road, off he goes. A gun tucked into the back of his waistband, his trusty pair of nunchucks, and his bruised knuckles. These are the things Minghao has learned to rely on. These are all he needs to survive.

 

“A man needs to do more than just survive,” says Jun, an all-knowing smirk hidden behind the rim of his glass.

 

Minghao curses him out in Chinese, satisfied in the way the words fall off Korean ears. The barman doesn’t spare him a glance. He likes this about Seoul; he looks enough the part that he can slip through her seedy underbelly without a second look, but he can hide his true intentions behind words that are masked in meaning. Can hide his street savvy behind broken Korean and a thick accent. _Sorry, no Korean,_ and they assume he is stupid. Well, more fool them.

 

Sometimes Minghao wonders.

 

“Survival is everything,” he spits back, wrinkling his nose at the burn of the alcohol.

 

“Then you know nothing.”

 

“You sold out for a pretty Korean boy,” he slurs, knowing he has drank too much. Knowing Jun did this on purpose and knowing he is powerless to stop the inevitable now.

 

“You need a family,” says Jun. “You would understand, if you had someone to come home to.”

 

Minghao scoffs. “Don’t need no one.” His tough facade is ruptured by a solitary hiccup, little more than a squeak from his mouth.

 

“We could use a good hitman for a job,” Jun continues smoothly. “You’d like them.”

 

He feels panic rising. “No. No way. I’m not joining your crew of merry men. No. Fuck you, Junhui. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

 

Jun snorts, slumping over the sticky surface of the bar. “What you so afraid of? That you’ll be domesticated like the house cat you are? Come on, Hao. Try it. Take the job.”

 

“Fuck you,” he repeats, words softer this time. “I’m totally a lion.”

 

Jun rakes his eyes up and down his frame with raised brows. “Sure. Anyway, you’ll be paid well. Good rates for a friend of a friend.”

 

Warm and fuzzy on soju, Minghao slings an arm around his old friend. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers this isn’t a good idea. But the voice is quiet and easy to drown with another swig of his glass. What’s the harm? One job with Jun’s new crew and then he can hit the road again, pockets heavier. No harm done. Right?

 

The smile Jun wears is that of a spider weaving a delicate web, watching the fly dance ever closer to the sticky tangle of his net. _Come closer,_ he invites, under the guise of old friendship and stories shared of being young, foolish kids on the streets. This is why Minghao doesn’t drink. He gets nostalgic. A nostalgic Minghao is a blustering fool who agrees to Junhui’s stupid whims.

 

*

 

Which is how he finds himself the next day, with a heavy head and a dry mouth, Jun prodding him between the shoulder blades until he steps into a lushly furnished office. From the outside it looks perfectly normal, one of any number of offices in the business quarters of the city. On the inside it’s plush, all thick carpets he can feel under his boots and dark oak trimmings. The view from one large window is the expanse of Seoul’s skyline; an expensive wallpaper if ever there was one. However new this ‘Seventeen’ might be on the scene, they’re certainly doing well for themselves. But these things can all change in the span of a blink. He’s seen it happen.

 

“Jihoon,” calls Jun, poking his head through the door, “I brought him.”

 

A man with sharp eyes stands from his desk and stalks over to them. Minghao is struck first, not by how short the man is, but by the intimidating aura he possesses simply by narrowing his eyes. Short he may be, but height means nothing under such a scrutinising stare, eyes roaming over Minhao’s face as if he can read his life story written across the slope of his brows. The worst part of it is the way those sharp eyes flicker past him to Jun, hands making their way into his suit pockets as he shrugs. _Shrugs._

 

“If you trust him I’ll take your word for it. Send him onto Soonyoung. He’ll test him out.”

 

Jun nods, ushering him out again. Minghao is still speechless. He knows wushu. He will kick this little man’s ass for such arrogance –

 

“And Junhui,” the man calls from inside his office, “you better not be wrong.”

 

In response Jun closes the door on Jihoon and turns back to an incredulous Minghao. “That’s just how he is. Don’t worry. He’s very protective of the family.”

 

It takes a few tries before Minghao’s mouth moves. “He’s not the leader, though. Right? That’s –”

 

“Seungcheol, yes. You’ve done your research.”

 

Minghao gives his old friend a look. It is a look that very clearly states, _do not fuck with me right now._

 

Jun sighs. “Jihoon is the one who makes the plans. Very little happens here without his approval.”

 

“And Seungcheol?”

 

“It’s better if you meet him yourself. But first –”

 

“Soonyoung?”

 

The corners of Jun’s lips twitch. “You’re such a little shit.”

 

“The feeling is mutual.”

 

They share a look and break out into twin grins. Times have changed, and so have they, but some habits cannot be trod out even by time itself. They know one another so well that they fall back into their old bickering like they’ve never been apart. Minghao wouldn’t give up drifting for the world but even so, he’s missed this. Familiarity and interrupted sentences. It makes him feel warm.

 

He should have known to walk away. Minghao doesn’t like ties. He doesn’t.

 

*

Soonyoung turns out to be another character. Minghao is introduced to him in some kind of makeshift gym in the basement, guiding a younger boy through fighting stances in the centre of a mat. He stands back and extends his hands, eyes narrowing into slits as he grins and gestures for the boy to attack. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

The younger boy strikes forward with a swing of his fists. He’s fast, but Soonyoung is faster, sliding out of the way and grabbing his arm. With graceful movements he twists the boy around and locks both arms behind his back, his other hand coming around his throat with a flash of steel glinting in the artificial lights. “Too eager. Watch your opponent. Predict which way they’re going to go.”

 

“Hyung, that’s cheating.”

 

Soonyoung releases him and grins. “There’s no rules out on the streets, Chan. Never forget that one.”

 

Jun coughs, catching both men’s attention. In an instant, Soonyoung changes. His smile widens, narrow eyes sparkling as he bounds forward. “Junhui! What did you bring me? Is this him?” Suddenly the eager man is all over him, eyes running all over his frame like he’s a prime breeding stallion. Minghao resists the instinct to flinch and retreat. He can’t show any weakness here.

 

“You must be Minghao,” he exlaims. “Hey, is it true you can use nunchucks?”

 

Soonyoung is not what Minghao expected. At all. “Um. Yes?”

 

“Oh! Oh! Can I see?” He claps his hands together with excitement.

 

Minghao spares Jun a glance and then shrugs. Tugging off his jacket, he accepts the proffered weapons – he doesn’t really want to know why Soonyoung has them if he can’t use them – and adjusts his grip. They’re too new, not worn down like his own pair, but as he closes his eyes and adjusts to the familiar stance, it all comes flooding back to him. Years of training have ingrained the movements into his body as he sweeps across the floor, twisting the weapons in his hands as if they’re extensions of his own body. Time passes indeterminately; it could be minutes, it could be hours. All Minghao can focus on is the sweet burn of muscles and the trickle of sweat running down his neck. Everything else fades away.

 

When he finally comes to a stop he’s breathing hard, almost shocked to he remember where he is. Across the matt Soonyoung claps his hands together with a grin, bouncing on his heels. “That’s amazing! You’re going to be such an asset here, Minghao.”

 

Minghao glances at Jun, poker faced as always. “What is I am doing here, exactly?”

 

Hoshi pats him on the back. “We’ll get to that. But first – lunch! Come on, you need to try the best food in Seoul. No one wants to discuss business on an empty stomach.”

 

Well, he’s not one to argue with that.

 

*

 

‘The best food in Seoul’ turns out to belong to a small place in a trendy area not far from the office, easily missed from the busy street outside. Inside the aura is nice, all rustic furniture and soft candlelight giving the place an inviting atmosphere. Not the kind he would assume is secretly a front for the mob but Minghao supposes that’s the point. He wonders if the various customers know the truth about the place, pleasant chatter filling the room.

 

“Soonyoung! Jun! You never told me you were coming today!” exclaims a cheerful young man with blond hair and chubby cheeks. He stops short when he spies Minghao, tilting his head like an owl. “Oh, who’s this?”

 

“Hey, Seungkwan. This is Minghao. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.” Soonyoung shoots him a look from the corner of his eye that he can’t interpret. “He’s a friend of Jun’s.”

 

“Oh, how nice. Are you visiting him then?”

 

“Something like that,” Minghao mumbles, looking between Soonyoung and Jun. Sure, the kid is young. But he can’t be _that_ naive, can he?

 

They both give him looks and shake their head. Oh, he is that naive then. Cute, but clearly unaware of what exactly goes on with the handsome gentlemen that frequent his place of work. Probably all the better, he thinks, as Seungkwan enthusiastically takes their order, swapping stories with Jun and Soonyoung about himself and another boy called Seokmin. Minghao says nothing.

 

“Is Seokmin in today?”

 

Seungkwan shakes his head. “He’s studying for an exam but Mingyu is in the kitchen. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

 

As he leaves Minghao raises his brows at Jun and Soonyoung but they look unconcerned, picking up a conversation from the halfway point as if he’s not even there. “It’s not a good idea to provoke them like this. We’ll be starting a war,” says Jun. “Seungcheol will never go for anything so reckless.”

 

Soonyoung leans back on his chair. “They already made the first move when they shot at Joshua and Jeonghan in their car. I’m with Jihoon on this one. We need to strike first and show them it’s not going to be tolerated. This is our priority now.” He punctuates this by stabbing his finger on the table.

 

The conversation instantly dies when Seungkwan approaches again. Minghao wonders if he really doesn’t notice how weird they act around him. “Mingyu’s already preparing your orders but I told him that someone else is here.” He turns to him with a warm smile that only baffles him. He doesn’t know Minghao, why would he smile like that? “What can I get you?”

 

Minghao looks between Jun and Soonyoung’s smirking faces. Pricks. He shrugs. “I don’t know. Whatever the chef recommends.”

 

“Right away.” Seungkwan rushes off to the kitchen again.

 

“So what am I here for anyway?” he says as soon as the kid leaves. “You want me to kill someone?”

 

Jun and Soonyoung exchange a look. All the little conversations between them that he’s been left out of only irritate him and he drums his fingers on the table to hurry them up. “We’re still agreeing the plan,” Jun says delicately, ignoring the face Soonyoung makes, “but we’re having a little trouble with a gang that used to run these parts before we took over.”

 

“They fell into disrepair so it was free for the taking. But now they’re back and they think they own this place,” adds Soonyoung. “We have friends that can back us up but we’d rather handle it ourselves and not make it any messier than it has to be.”

 

Minghao shrugs. “Pay me and I’ll get rid of any annoyance you have.”

 

Soonyoung beams triumphantly at Jun, eyes creasing charmingly, and Jun rolls his eyes. Soon after the food is delivered by a cheerful Seungkwan, passing out plates of steaming food that smell delicious.

 

“Mingyu will be out to say hi soon.”

 

As the others dig into their food with gusto, Minghao sniffs at his apprehensively. Of all the things he’s still not completely used to about Korea, the food is probably the main one. He tentatively tries a sample bite, teasing noodles in a thick spicy sauce from his chopsticks. There’s a burst of flavour in his mouth and he glances up in surprise at Jun and Soonyoung watching him.

 

“What?” he snaps.

 

Soonyoung mumbles something incomprehensible through a mouthful of food and Minghao wrinkles his nose in disgust. But it doesn’t stop him from scooping more into his mouth despite the way it burns his tongue. He can’t get enough of the taste.

 

“How’s it going today?”

 

He nearly chokes as a voice sounds behind him, grasping desperately for water. A man comes into view, stopping at their table with a towel slung over his neck. Handsome is the first word that comes to mind with rich tan skin and an easy smile. His eyes find his and Minghao wishes he weren’t currently choking on his dinner but what can he do.

 

“I hope it isn’t that bad,” says the man with a laugh. No sympathy for a dying man. Clearly an asshole.

 

“Mingyu, it’s as good as always,” says Soonyoung, throwing him a thumbs up.

 

“Glad to hear it, man. Say, who’s the new guy?”

 

Jun jabs him in the side with a bony elbow and Minghao, barely recovered, shoots him a glare. “This is Minghao. He’s an old friend.”

 

Mingyu beams. Minghao wonders if he’s as clueless as Seungkwan about what his friends do for a living. “It’s nice to meet you Minghao.”

 

Flustered, he simply nods.

 

Mingyu laughs. “What are you here for, then? Did they finally decide to deal with that little problem they were having?”

 

He freezes, glancing at Jun and Soonyoung out of the corner of his eyes, but it seems like no one is concerned that he knows so he leans back in his seat and fixes him with that cocksure smirk he wears so well. “Aren’t you worried I might need to deal with you for knowing too much?”

 

Mingyu snorts. “Please. Even I could take a twig like you.”

 

“Oh, you want to go?” he’s out of his seat in a flash, standing so close he can see the slight fangs Mingyu has when he grins. And damn him, he’s slightly taller. By, like, a fraction of an inch, not that Minghao’s counting. His brown eyes sparkle as they take him in from head to toe in a way that makes him squirm.

 

“If you think you can handle me.”

 

“Stop antagonising the new guy, Mingyu,” says Soonyoung, still chewing. “He can use nunchucks.

 

Mingyu appears to reassess him under the light of this new information, still far too close for comfort. “I still think I could take him.”

 

Minghao settles for a smirk, rocking back on one hip. “Only one way to find out.”

 

But before they can get to battling it out Seungkwan is calling Mingyu back into the kitchen, waving him over frantically. His hair is in disarray and sweat is dripping from his forehead. The poor kid looks frazzled.

 

“Rain check on that,” Mingyu says easily, winking as if Minghao is going to be sticking around. “Duty calls.”

 

Minghao sinks back into his seat. Across the table Jun eyes him and he mouths, “What?” Jun simply keeps looking and he bristles under the weight of his gaze.

 

A smarter man would have heeded the uncomfortable prickling sensation beneath his skin. But Minghao is not a smarter man.

 

*

 

Planning under Seungcheol’s leadership involves gathering the gang around a long dining table that apparently no one actually eats at, papers and floor plans spread over its surface. Most of them are dressed sharply; suits, ties and shirts, but Minghao has always preferred a classic black. Suits are fine for a purpose, but nothing else fits all occasions like a sleek black combo and he’s long learned that a job can take him anywhere.

 

“It’s pretty well guarded,” Soonyoung, pointing to places on the floor plan. “Guards here, here, here, and here.”

 

“Seokmin says he recognised one of their men as far as the university. They’re getting more and more confident the more we don’t do anything,” adds Jeonghan.

 

Jihoon frowns at the floor plans, finger stopping at a point. “We should put a stop to this before they go any further.”

 

Minghao stands to the back and listens to their squabbling with disinterest. He has no stakes in their petty territory disputes. Really, all he’s here to do is help out once they decide what to do but until then he has to kick about and wait for the verdict. With so many players, planning anything takes an age. He’s reminded of exactly why he likes to work alone.

 

“They haven’t actually done anything yet,” interjects Vernon. He’s one of their two American members. “Should we really be attacking without being provoked?”

 

“Being in our territory should be enough,” says Jihoon, ever the firm hand. He’s as much the leader here as Seungcheol, who is standing at the head of the table and listening attentively to everything his men say.

 

Suddenly the door swings open and several heads turn in unison as the second American appears in the doorway, smiling serenely. Joshua is a character Minghao can’t quite figure out and for that reason alone he finds himself unnerved in his presence, on unsure footing anytime they share a room. He watches him command the attention of the rest of the men as he takes his time walking to the other side of the room, taking his place by Seungcheol’s side.

 

“I spent a while in that Nu’Est bar on the outskirts of our territory, just eavesdropping on their plans,” he says after a beat of silence. “Aron is definitely planning on acting. I couldn’t hear for definite when it would be but they want rid of us so they can swoop back in and take advantage of how profitable this area is. They think its theirs.”

 

“They didn’t see you?” frowns Seuncheol.

 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” says Joshua.

 

Minghao wishes they would hurry up and make a decision. He slips his phone out to play a game until Jun elbows him sharply in the gut and he gasps, drawing the attention of the room. Holding up his hands in apology, he feels his face burn with the air he’s desperate for, but he waits until they continue their conversation before he sags over, glaring at Jun through his watery eyes. The bastard just smirks back at him.

 

“They’re nothing without Minhyun,” Jihoon declares. “I say we get in and demonstrate our dominance. Shake them up and show them who owns this place.”

 

“I agree with Jihoon,” says Soonyoung, earning a strange look from the man. “It’s better we establish ourselves than sit around waiting for them to make a move.”

 

“What are you planning on doing?” scoffs Seungcheol. “Do you want to assassinate JR and invite a war?”

 

“What will they do without their leader?”

 

“They’ve survived before,” says Jeonghan. “They re-grouped and came back once. Don’t count them out so easily.”

 

Bored now, Minghao pipes up, “Just blow up one of their places and call it a day,” before he can remind his brain its not a good idea to get involved. When they all turn to stare at him he squirms under their combined gazes. “Or don’t.” He shrugs.

 

“It’s not a bad idea.”

 

“It would be enough to warn them away but not enough to invite a feud.”

 

“Do you know who would be perfect for this?” says Soonyoung.

 

Several of them all say, “Jooheon,” at the same time.

 

Minghao is mystified but he doesn’t care enough to question.

 

*

 

Apparently all important meetings are done at the Diamond Diner. Minghao slides into the same booth as before with Jun and Soonyoung. They are the ones who handle most of Seungcheol’s dirty work and they’re training Chan up to join them now that Seventeen is growing in strength but until the kid is ready Minghao is basically his substitute. He doesn’t care. As long as he’s getting paid, he’ll be there.

 

With everything so similar to before, it’s slightly jarring to get a different server, a girl with a round face and pigtails. She’s basically the female Seungkwan, all sunshine smiles and bright, pealing voice, that its even more disorientating.

 

“Hi, Yehana,” greets Soonyoung cheerfully. “The usual please. Tell Mingyu that Minghao’s here.” They make more pleasantries while Minghao looks at his phone and Jun texts. Probably the Korean boytoy he’s still to meet.

 

“Oh, oh, oh!” exclaims Soonyoung suddenly, sitting up. “Jooheon!” he calls, waving over a boy in a face mask with eyes as sharp as his.

 

Jooheon greets him like a long-lost brother, hugging and then sliding into the booth beside Soonyoung. “It’s been too long,” he says.

 

“How’s Chankyunnie? I haven’t seem him in ages.”

 

Minghao can’t really be bothered with all this schmoopy nonsense, excusing himself to get some air while they catch up. He doesn’t need to be part of the planning anyway. He’ll show up, cover their backs, take the money, and go. There’s no need for his presence any more than that.

 

Slipping out the back, he presses against the wall and sighs deeply, breathing in the cool air. His head hurts and he wants to go home but Minghao doesn’t really have one. If he was more honest with himself he might admit that’s why he’s here. Some part of him is curious – what’s so good here that it’s made Jun stick around?

 

“Want a smoke?”

 

He blinks, looking over his shoulder at Mingyu in his chef’s whites, holding out the packet. Minghao doesn’t really like smoking but it helps settle his nerves when he’s like this so he accepts it, ignoring the warmth when their fingers brush. Plucking one out, he sticks it in his mouth and raises his mouth as if to say, _where’s the lighter?_

 

Mingyu grins and crooks a finger until he’s leaning in. He flicks the lighter, flame splitting up the perfect symmetry of his face, and then Minghao’s ducking away from his musky scent, replacing it with the stench of smoke. It curls up from his fingers when he pulls it from his mouth and he relishes the burn in his lungs.

 

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Mingyu says even as he lights his own. “It’s not good for your health.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

It’s getting dark out, the last rays of sun disappearing behind Seoul’s uneven skyline. Pink fades into a deep blue, clouds sweeping in from the coast, covering up the stars somewhere above. In all of Seoul’s hazy smog, Minghao doubts they’ve ever been seen here in his lifetime, but its vaguely romantic to picture them in his mind.

 

“What brings you to town, Minghao?”

 

“A job.”

 

“Ah,” Mingyu nods sagely. “How did you get into that sort of thing?”

 

“How did you end up a chef in some backwards diner?”

 

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know this is an up-and-coming restaurant to watch out for, according to Seoul’s most acclaimed food critic.” Mingyu crosses his arms in faux offence.

 

“Oh, well, if he’s the _most_ acclaimed, then.”

 

Mingyu snorts, blowing more smoke into the air. “I’m still at school but we’ve all got to start somewhere. Experience is good for applications.”

 

“So I’m told,” he replies. Minghao wouldn’t really know.

 

“Mm. Did you like my dish last time?”

 

Minghao has been trying to find the same thing ever since he tried it but he doesn’t want to give Mingyu the satisfaction of coming back on his own. Nothing quite compares to the rich combination of textures and flavours, the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, but he’ll shoot himself before he says as much.

 

Minghao shrugs. “It was alright.”

 

Mingyu wears a knowing smile, just a hint of fang peeking out. “I’m glad you liked it."

 

He doesn’t realise how much time has passed, content to waste it with their lazy back and forth, until he finishes his second cigarette and realises night has completely fallen over them. It leaves him a little unsettled. Minghao doesn’t do this. He doesn’t make small talk, or banter, or anything remotely like this. But for some reason he’s not shifting. He doesn’t want to.

 

“You know –”

 

Mingyu is interrupted by the door opening and Jun peeking his head through. His dark eyes take them both in and Minghao tries not to look guilty when he’s been doing literally nothing, but he can’t keep the irritation off his face. He wants to know what Mingyu was going to say.

 

“Operation’s a go,” says Jun. “You coming?”

 

Minghao spares Mingyu one last glance before he follows Jun. Back to the job, back to reality. Back to his comfort zone, free of handsome strangers that offer him free smokes. It’s where he would stay, if he had any sense.

 

*

 

“So, what were you and Mingyu talking about?” says Jun casually. Too casually; Minghao knows him too well to not recognise the tone.

 

He whips around to narrow his eyes at him. They’re currently ten floors up on the roof of an office, Minghao’s sniper rifle loaded on the roof as he watches Soonyoung and Jooheon’s tiny forms below.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Half an hour is a lot of nothing.”

 

“He offered me a free smoke. I wasn’t gonna say no.” When it’s just the two of them they fall comfortably into Chinese. It makes him feel a little more at ease, just being able to chose his words more delicately. With Korean he still tends to stumble, always coming from a disadvantage. Minghao likes feeling on even footing for once.

 

“I wouldn’t advise it anyway.”

 

That catches his attention. “Wait, why not?”

 

“Pay attention, will you? There’s a guy about to attack Soonyoung.”

 

With a hiss, Minghao focuses down the lens of his rifle at the black-clad man creeping up on Soonyoung as he attaches explosives to the door of the Nu’Est bar. Lining up his rifle and licking his finger to assess the wind, he calculates his angle and squeezes the trigger. The man falls like a ragdoll.

 

“Thanks, man.” Soonyoung’s voice crackles through the piece in his ear, alerted by the bang.

 

“So, why not?” he says. It’s not like Minghao’s _interested_ but he hypothetically wants to know why a hypothetical relationship between him and Mingyu would hypothetically not work.

 

“There are three people you do not touch. Those are Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Mingyu. They’re not part of this deal and Seungcheol is very protective of them.” Jun scratches his chin. “Better add Chan to that list. He’s Jeonghan’s baby.”

 

“We’re talking about me fucking him. I’m not going to hurt him.” The idea of Mingyu, golden skin on white sheets, is hard to get out of his mind once it pops in there.

 

Jun gives him a _look_. “Mingyu’s a good guy. Sweet. He needs someone who will stay with him, not run off shitless like a certain someone I know.”

 

And Minghao has no defence against that. He packs away his rifle with a sigh as Soonyoung gives the go ahead that the building’s about to go up. It’s for the better anyway. He doesn’t want to end up like Jun, tied down by feelings and other such ridiculous notions. Romance is wasted on someone like him. Commitment is as foreign as the tongue he’s forced to speak while he’s here.

 

There’s a deep rumbling bass coming from across the way and it alerts him to the impending explosion. Time to go. Rifle packed up, he’s trotting down the fire escape and out onto the dark street by the time the building explodes outwards in a ball of debris and fire. Even from this far away he feels the heat on his face. Play with fire and you get burned. That’s the message to take away here.

 

*

 

But Minghao has always enjoyed playing with a little fire. It’s why he rides a motorcycle in Seoul’s busy traffic, offering himself up to the worst of the crazy drivers in this city, arrogant enough to try and intimidate him off the road. As if Minghao could be intimidated. Besides, there’s nothing more freeing than feeling the rush of air whipping at his clothes, the fresh stench of the streets and diesel all the more visceral in his fishbowl lens of a helmet. He likes the rush. Neon lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colours at either side of him, pretty and synthetic.

 

As he approaches Seventeen’s territory he starts to slow, trying to remember where his cut-off is supposed to be. He can’t read Korean signs at the best of times, let alone on a bike in the middle of the night. The glow of an advertising billboard on a bus shelter draws his attention and it’s then he spots him: Mingyu, reflecting the advert in his bright whites as he plays with his phone.

 

Minghao shouldn’t but then he remembers Jun warning him away and he decides Jun can go fuck himself. So he pulls up at the bus stop and tugs off his helmet, enjoying the way Mingyu glances up, looks down, and then darts back up to him with widening eyes.

 

“Minghao?”

 

“You want a ride?”

 

With the unnatural glow brightening his skin, Mingyu looks ethereal, almost inhuman. Maybe its because he’s dressed in white but Minghao doubts that’s it. For the first time Mingyu hesitates at the question, pondering for a beat that stretches out far enough for Minghao’s palms to grow clammy inside his gloves. Finally, he smiles, teeth flashing in the dark. “I can take the bus. I don’t live far.” But he’s taking a step forward and then another.

 

Minghao pats the back of his bike, fishing a spare helmet from the top box and tossing it to Mingyu. “It should fit okay.”

 

Mingyu twirls it in his hand before putting it on. He takes a moment to work out how he’s going to climb on and Minghao snorts. It’s kind of endearing but it’d take a gun to the head for him to admit it. Once Mingyu’s settled behind him, the bike dipping with his weight, he grabs Mingyu’s hands and places them at his hips, glancing back at the shining visor reflecting the light. It’s a shame he can’t see Mingyu’s expression but he’ll settle for his warmth, seeping through the leather of his jacket and the sliver of a gap between their bodies.

 

The engine rumbles beneath him and then he’s tearing out onto the road, following the directions had Mingyu had given him before he took off. He finds his street easily enough, a quieter suburb near the river with rows of apartment blocks. Finding a suitable place to park his bike, he cuts the engine and tugs off his helmet, awaiting Mingyu’s reaction.

 

His face is streaked with amber light from the street light above them, still inexplicably handsome. Minghao kind of hates him. There’s a quiet that has fallen over them that neither quite seem willing to break, neither meeting each other’s gazes but peering out into the street as a taxi rattles by, neon sign flashing. In the distance someone honks their horn and it draws them from their reverie, locking gazes in one intense moment.

 

“Thanks for the lift. I appreciate it.” Mingyu hands him the helmet back.

 

Minghao shrugs. He should leave now but his legs refuse to budge.

 

Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a step backwards, breaking whatever spell has been cast on them. “You should drop by the restaurant. Your favourite is on me.”

 

“It’s not my –” _favourite,_ he wants to say, but Mingyu is already stalking out of earshot, waving the back of his hand.

 

Minghao rolls his eyes. But he can’t stop the smile breaking across his face. It lasts all the way back to the hotel he’s crashing in, hidden beneath his helmet. It feels thrilling, like a secret.

 

*

 

Minghao ends up turning up to Mingyu’s restaurant because of course he does. He tries to tell himself it's because the food is delicious, which isn’t a lie, but he would be omitting the other reasons that he comes, and a lie by omission is still a lie no matter what he tells himself to sleep at night. So he shuffles in awkwardly one night, the diner nearly empty except for a smattering of quiet patrons in candlelit booths.

 

“Minghao!” exclaims a bright eyed Seungkwan. He cranes his head past him and then his eyes widen even further when he realises. “Are you here on your own?”

 

“Uh,” he says, rubbing his neck, “can you tell Mingyu I dropped by? He said to –” he waves his hand to replace the words he can’t find and to his relief Seungkwan nods, leading him to a table towards the back.

 

“I’ll just let him know.”

 

It feels like an eternity. It feels like seconds before Mingyu’s smug grin greets him from the door to the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder again. “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

 

Minghao narrows his eyes. “I was promised free food.”

 

Mingyu snorts. “Sure, sure. If that’s all then I’ll get to it, shall I?”

 

“Well, I didn’t come here for the stellar service.”

 

“No? Not even when the head chef visits you himself?”

 

“Aren’t you the only chef?”

 

They’re probably far too close into one another’s space for customer and server, so close Minghao can see flecks of black in Mingyu’s brown eyes. He enjoys this little back and forth they have going; it makes him feel awake, adrenaline rushing in his veins. There’s just something about Mingyu he can’t put his finger on.

 

“I mean I can just make you leave. You could always starve.”

 

Minghao leans forward, hand resting on his chin. “But what will you do if I tell Seoul’s _best_ foot critic?”

 

Mingyu lets out a bellowing laugh, hand over his abdomen. When he finally composes himself, wiping tears from his eyes, he looks right at Mingyu and nods. “Alright, dinner time. Wait for me.”

 

“I’ve got nothing else to do, have I?”

 

Minghao plays games on his phone while he waits for his dinner, the gentle chatter of the few patrons left creating a pleasant white noise in the background. From the kitchen he can smell the rich aromas of spices and herbs and his stomach grumbles in anticipation. Curse Mingyu. He’s going to ruin him for instant ramen and whatever else he can microwave in a couple of minutes.

 

“Food is served!”

 

Minghao looks up from his phone to see Mingyu brandish the plate before him. It smells delicious, agonising on his empty stomach, but he resists smashing his face into the plate. Instead he raises a brow and cocks his head. “You know you aren’t actually one of the waitstaff, right?”

 

Mingyu simply slips into the seat across from him, face falling into the cup of his hands. “Tell me how it is.”

 

“Don’t watch me eat. That’s creepy.”

 

“Good.”

 

Minghao grumbles as he breaks apart his chopsticks and dives in, too hungry to feign any further disinterest. Besides, it’s too damn good. Even better than it smells. There’s little room between his mouth and the plate, as he shovels as much as he can into his face as fast as possible. Across from him Mingyu looks smug, grin growing the more Minghao eats.

 

When he’s finished he wipes his mouth and leans back, resting a hand on his swollen belly with a groan.

 

“Good?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Good.”

 

Someone calls Mingyu from the kitchen. Maybe Seungkwan, maybe Yehana, Minghao’s not sure. With sluggish movements Mingyu rises, fingers trailing over the table. He pauses, looking vaguely hesitant, before he wipes the look away with a grin. “Pop in now and then, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.”

 

Minghao watches his back as he leaves, disappearing through the door. Being a stranger is exactly what Minghao is good at, he wants to shout to his retreating back. But he doesn’t think it will sound witty this time. Just sad.

 

For the first time he wonders if maybe he doesn’t want to be a stranger.

 

*

 

So Minghao returns to the restaurant. Again and again, until his days are spent plotting with Jun’s boys, training Chan with Soonyoung, and spying on JR’s gang; then his nights at the same booth, candle burning between him and Mingyu as they share a bottle of wine or a cold beer, talking themselves hoarse until he knows everything there is to know about Kim Mingyu.

 

He’s never felt this before. It’s so dangerous. But Minghao has always enjoyed a little danger.

 

*

 

On nights where he stays past closing time, Minghao will usually walk Mingyu back to the bus stop out of courtesy. It’s a dangerous world out there and he wouldn’t like to leave him on his own in the dark solitary streets between the restaurant and his stop; not when he knows exactly what kind of dangers are lurking there. A niggling voice in the back of his mind reminds him this is not his regular behaviour. Minghao doesn’t do courtesy. But the way Mingyu smiles as he shrugs on his jacket just as they’re about to leave, warm and bright and eyes crinkling, makes it all worth it.

 

He doesn’t ask Mingyu if he wants a lift on his bike again, something about it too thrilling, too illicit, to be anything but a special dalliance on a night where time didn’t quite seem real and Seoul was quieter than Minghao had ever witnessed her. The question rises to the tip of his tongue a few times before he dismisses it again. He knows if Mingyu wants a ride he’ll ask.

 

On this particular night Mingyu is running later than normal but Minghao doesn’t really mind waiting. He has little to go back to his dingy hotel room for. At least the restaurant has air conditioning and doesn’t smell like mould, plus the wi-fi works faster than the glacial pace of his ancient hotel. So he settles back in his seat and waits.

 

“Minghao? What are you doing here?”

 

Minghao glances up and feels his heart sink as Soonyoung and another young man appear before him, both glancing at him like he’s a fascinating specimen in a laboratory that needs to be sliced apart to be understood. Frozen, his mouth opens and closes but he can’t find the words to explain himself. He knows what it looks like – him sitting there quite the thing long after opening hours are over as he waits for Mingyu to finish – but he doesn’t know how to say that’s not what it really is without sounding like he’s protesting too much.

 

It’s at that moment Mingyu comes through from the kitchen. “Sorry I kept you waiting, Minghao, I was just –” he cuts off to stare at the two intruders into their little routine, looking briefly panicked, but he smooths it over with a smile. “Soonyoung? Seokmin? If you thought you were working tonight I think you missed your shift.”

 

So the one with the sharp cheekbones is Seokmin, he muses as the man breaks into a bellowing laugh. He’s handsome and apparently he works with Mingyu a lot. Minghao quashes the flare of jealousy the thought inspires.

 

“I thought Seungkwan was working tonight?”

 

Soonyoung nods. “We were supposed to go the midnight premier of that new film he was so excited about.”

 

“Seungkwan phoned in sick. That’s why it’s taken me so long to close up,” he says, smiling apologetically at Minghao. “Sorry, boys. Seems you’ve come all this way for nothing.”

 

Soonyoung taps a hand excitedly on Seokmin’s shoulder. “We could invite Minghao. What do you say?” he beams, turning to face him.

 

Minghao blinks under his bright look, glancing hesitantly at Mingyu. Normally he’d dismiss them easily and bow out as quick as he could, but he doesn’t really want to look rude in front of Mingyu, nor does he really want to cut their night short here when he’s grown so accustomed to the tingle of warmth he feels as a result, lingering long after they’ve parted ways. He opens his mouth to say – _something_ – when he’s interrupted by Mingyu.

 

“Sorry, Soonyoung. Minghao’s helping me with something, aren’t you?”

 

Minghao frowns, taking a moment to read the tilt of Mingyu’s brows. “Uh huh,” he mumbles belatedly, far from convincing.

 

The wattage of his smile decreasing, Soonyoung looks ready to protest, but Seokmin tugs him away. “We’re going to miss the start of the film if we wait any longer. Come on, hyung, I’ll buy you popcorn.”

 

“Oh!”

 

Seokmin waves as he drags Soonyoung away, the sound of their nerdy babbling fading as they leave and the door clicks closed.

 

Minghao arches a brow at Mingyu who shrugs sheepishly. “I guess I just wanted you to myself for a little longer yet.”

 

It’s almost enough to make him flush. Almost. But he keeps his composure as he waits for Mingyu to tug on his jacket, anticipation coiling in his gut. It’s stupid, really, when he knows nothing is going to happen. But simply walking side by side with him is enough to make him feel warm, shoulders bumping together even though the pavement is more than wide enough for the both of them. In another world Mingyu might have been brave enough to take his hand like he longs to. To let himself have the chance to see where this goes.

 

But this is not that reality. This is the one where Minghao is a mercenary and Mingyu is a chef. Their worlds should never have intersected at all. Jun's words echo in his head, reminding him what a coward he is. So its with the bittersweet fragrance of the cherry blossoms shedding their petals to the breeze that they part ways, the hum of artificial lighting and rush of passing traffic enough to fill the absence of words.

 

In another world Minghao allows himself to start something Mingyu. But this is not that world, so he resists the urge to cup Mingyu’s cheek with his palm and takes a step back, admiring the picture of him there framed by the shelter, so beautiful it aches in his chest. They wave goodbye and he tells himself its better this way. As stunning and transient as the cherry blossom petal that catches in his palm.

Mingyu deserves better than Minghao knows how to give. That’s what he tells himself as he swings up onto his bike and takes the road back to his hotel.

 

*

 

“Seungcheol wants to talk to you.”

 

Minghao wipes the sweat from his forehead with a damp cloth and waves to Soonyoung, who returns to training with Chan. He’s starting to grow – he doesn’t like the word fond – but accustomed to their personas, enjoying the energy that both boys bring to whatever they do. It keeps him on his toes. If he’s sweating this hard when he trains with them it probably means he’s been slacking.

 

“What about?”

 

Jun shrugs but he can see the look in his eyes. It’s the look that says he’s not going to tell him because Jun is a shit friend who forgot where his loyalties lie.

 

“You are a shit friend,” he says.

 

Jun snorts. “Oh, shut up. You love me really, don’t you?”

 

“What’s this about now?” From the door Minghao and Jun are walking towards appears a man dressed in a three-piece check suit, his face as sharp and angular as his outfit as he pauses in front of them, the hint of a smirk forming on his lips. The pretentious fucker is wearing glasses with a thin metal chain hooked around them and he’s carrying a bona fide leather briefcase.

 

“Hao is being tsundere again,” says Jun, as if that explains everything.

 

“Ah,” says the man, dropping his glasses around his neck and roughing up his jelled hair. “But I thought I was your favourite tsundere?”

 

This must be Wonwoo. Minghao tries not to show his disgust at their appalling public displays of flirtation. God. Like, yeah, Wonwoo’s kind of hot in a dirty-accountant-to-the-mob kind of way but, really, Jun should know better. This is what he settled down for? And as Wonwoo leans into Jun’s space, the two of them murmuring into one another’s ears all sly and love-sick, Minghao shoves past them into Seungcheol’s office.

 

The man in question is doing the stereotypical stare out into the city street with his back turned away from him, except they’re only a few floors high so the view isn’t very impressive. In a chair by the corner sits Jihoon, one leg crossed over the other. Minghao almost misses him but then he feels the laser sharp heat of his gaze raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He makes eyes contact and tries to hold it for long enough so as not to look like he’s intimidated but it’s difficult. Jihoon just makes him feel uncomfortable.

 

“You’ve been doing well around here,” Seungcheol begins, turning, and it takes all his willpower not to roll his eyes at how obviously ripped from a movie this scenario is. It must be because they’re all so young. More like boys playing the game the way they think it should be played.

 

Minghao sighs. “I’m not fucking him, you know.”

 

Seungcheol and Jihoon share a brief, surprised glance. Clearly off-put, Seungcheol covers himself by shoving his hands into his pockets and clearing his throat. “I wasn’t going to suggest that you were. I merely wanted to talk to you about –”

 

“About not fucking him,” interrupts Jihoon.

 

“What Jihoon means to say,” says Seungcheol with a glare at his companion, “is that Mingyu is not involved in this business. He’s just a friend of some of our boys who is looking a make a normal living for himself.”

 

“And we prefer to keep it that way,” adds Jihoon.

 

“Great,” says Minghao, feigning disinterest. “I’m happy for him. So, can I go now?”

 

They share another, more unsettled look. “Minghao,” says Seungcheol, “we know you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. We’re not trying to say you can’t be friends or anything like that. Restricting people is not what we do here, but –”

 

“Mingyu is different? It’s fine. Look, you really don’t have to worry. As soon as this drama with JR’s gang is over, I’ll be moving on anyway.”

 

They don’t look convinced but Minghao isn’t really all that interested in justifying himself. He’s about to turn and walk out dramatically when Joshua bursts into the room, door slamming open. Minghao would hate him for ruining any potential impact of his exit but the man looks panicked, breathing hard, and he’s immediately tensed for bad news.

 

“The restaurant! They’ve targeted the restaurant!”

 

And Minghao sees red. Without waiting to check for what Seungcheol has to say he’s running out the door. Despite the conversation he just had, all that runs through his mind is Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu.

 

He’s going to kill them all if they so much as touch a hair on his head.

 

*

 

By the time he gets there, breaking so many speeding laws on his motorbike he’s lucky he isn’t hauled right into the police station, it’s already a mess. There are flames licking up the sides, walls stained black with soot and smoke. The smoke is a thick wreath around the restaurant, clogging up his lungs as he pushes into it, holding a clothed hand over his nose and mouth. It stings his eyes but he doesn’t care. He thinks his heart might be in throat, lodged so tight he can’t actually breathe.

 

It’s so hot he’s sweating in seconds, trying to find an entrance that isn’t sealed with debris and fire, but Minghao is nothing if not determined. His mind is running a hundred miles a minute. He can’t think. There’s just a klaxon blaring where his thoughts should be, shrill and shrieking over and over.

 

He hears coughing and runs around to the side opposite the car park, barely able to see through the smog. It feels like he’s been swallowing broken glass and the shards have lodged in his lungs. There’s no way he’s getting inside the building like this and he can hear the sirens blaring in the distance but it’s not enough. If Mingyu and the others are still trapped in there…

 

“Seungkwan? Seungkwan!”

 

Mingyu follows the voice drifting through the smoke until he breaks through the worst of it to see two soot-stained figures, one slumped against the other. When they step into a pool of amber street light he nearly faints with relief, tearing towards them.

 

“Mingyu!” he yells, voice straining. “Mingyu!”

 

Mingyu glances up, face streaked with black but mostly unhurt. He hopes. “Minghao?” he croaks. “What are you doing here?”

 

In answer Minghao pushes into his space, inspecting his face, his arms, his body for any signs of burns or injury, but he appears relatively unharmed except for the cough that starts up, too chesty for Minghao’s liking. Mingyu looks bemused at his fussing but he doesn’t say anything.

 

A warm hand catches his arm. “I think Seungkwan breathed in too much smoke. We need to get him to hospital.”

 

Minghao’s stomach swoops at seeing Seungkwan nestled into Mingyu’s side, coughing so hard his entire body shudders. “There’s an ambulance on the way. Let’s get further from the smoke.”

 

He waits for it to arrive with his entire body thrumming. The need to exact revenge almost outweighs his concern for both boys, watching as medics pack them both into the back of the ambulance. Before the doors shut Mingyu gives him one last look but Minghao shakes his head, flicking his hand in a gesture to go. The doors cover Mingyu’s face and the ambulance pulls away, leaving Minghao to stew in his anger. He lets it marinate as he pulls on his gloves and helmet, kicking the bike into gear.

 

They’ll pay for this. He’ll make sure of it.

 

*

 

Over the years Minghao has got pretty good at a lot of things but he’s never been as good at anything as he is at killing. It’s like he finds the switch to his conscious and flicks it off so that he can burst into their dive of a regular haunt with a semi-automatic that he has stashed in the tail bag of his bike. Bullets line the walls, patrons screaming as the lights shatter. The reverb rattles through him, jarring his teeth, and it feels good.

 

When he finds the members he doesn’t hesitate. They pull their guns, stunned, but they don’t have time to react when he’s one live wire made of pure adrenaline and rage. Without mercy, without remorse, Minghao guns them all down. In the dim lighting the blood is barely visible, shining black against the walls. He’s breathing hard, fists clenched so tight he feels like his knuckles could burst with the need to hit something.

 

Mingyu. Seungkwan. Yehana. Good, innocent kids that aren’t part of their world. That shouldn’t be used as collateral. How could Minghao ever feel guilt for ridding the world of such spineless cowards? He doesn’t. He doesn’t, but as he comes down from the high, breaths loud in the silent room, he fears facing Mingyu after what he has done.

 

The door bursts open and Minghao levels his gun only to see its Joshua and Jihoon, packing enough firepower to fill an armoury. They each survey the room with hard eyes and then nod. Neither look at him like he’s a monster. If anything they appear satisfied, beckoning him to follow them.

 

“We need to leave now before the police show up.”

 

Minghao takes a step and then stops. “Seungkwan? Mingyu?”

 

“They were the only ones in there,” says Joshua gently. “Mingyu texted and says they’re both going to be fine. Seungkwan’s staying in overnight but Mingyu has been sent home from the hospital. Vernon and Seokmin are staying with Seungkwan.”

 

There’s a sharp, shuddering gasp and then he realises the noise came from his own mouth. Minghao should have heeded his own warning. He should have seen the call from Jun and hardened his heart to old times. He should have told him and his offer to go fuck themselves and hit the road like he always does. He certainly should have got out after he took Mingyu home that night, high on the rush of the wind in his hair and Mingyu’s warmth seeping into his bones.

 

But Minghao foolishly played with fire and got burned. Now he has come too far now to turn back.

 

*

 

After Joshua and Jihoon return to the office to report back to Seungcheol, Minghao prowls the streets for a while, trying to decide what to do. He knows what he should do. What he should do is swing on his bike and ride away, never to return to this noisy, anxious maniac of a city ever again. Seoul’s nothing but a bad lover who will bleed you dry and leave you to awaken in the gutter in the morning with a head like someone took a baseball bat to it.

 

But Minghao doesn’t leave.

 

What he does do is get on his bike. But instead of taking the road out of the city he takes it towards the district Mingyu lives in, driving by instinct more than reason. He tells himself he just needs to know he’s okay but he knows how a lie tastes in his own mouth by now. Still he rides, blood drying sticky on his face. It itches but he can’t scratch with his helmet on so he pushes it aside, cold wind creeping beneath his clothes and making him shiver.

 

Without even realising he’s done it he has climbed the stairs of the apartment block to Mingyu’s apartment, only knowing the number because Mingyu had once complained about being so high up. His body is thrumming again but this time it’s not with anger and he’s beginning to feel a bit frazzled by the time he works up the courage to knock on the door.

 

It takes a while for Mingyu to answer. When the door opens he’s blinking, towelling off damp hair that clings to his forehead. “Minghao,” says in disbelief, but Minghao’s already pushing past him into a small, homely little apartment with a view out to the car park beyond and a smattering of street lights glittering like jewels in the black of night.

 

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

 

Minghao turns, suddenly burning up. He feels like his skin can’t contain him, hands shaking.

 

“Minghao, what did you do?” Mingyu’s tone of voice makes his stomach plunge into ice. In seconds he feels cold. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

 

“Don’t think about it,” he rasps like he’s the one that’s just been to the hospital for smoke inhalation.

 

Mingyu plants both hands on his chest and shoves him, hard. Not expecting it, Minghao stumbles back a few steps, feeling like he’s just been struck across the face. “I did it because –”

 

“No,” Mingyu snaps, “you don’t get to say you did it for me.”

 

“I didn’t.” If Mingyu wants to hurt him he can cut right back. “I did it because I wanted to so don’t flatter yourself.”

 

Mingyu’s expression tightens, lips pursing. Even like this, circles beneath his eyes, skin pink from the shower beneath the grubby lighting of his apartment he looks beautiful, incomprehensible. Like a moth to a flame Minghao is drawn in. He’s going to burn up and he’s going to walk into the fire with both eyes wide open.

 

“You were fine before. You knew what I did. What we all did. What, is it too much now you can see the evidence?”

 

Mingyu flinches and he doesn’t feel proud of himself but damn it all he needs to drive him away. He needs to end this now. Walk away while there’s still a chance they can both get out unscathed. Minghao has never minded playing the villain if it serves its purpose.

 

“You think I don’t know? I know what they do – I know because they like me they protect me. It’s – maybe it’s not right but I can accept it if it means I can get on with my life.”

 

“So what? Why am I different?”

 

Mingyu takes a step closer. “I don’t want you to be just an acquaintance.” He licks his lips. “And I’m not some damsel that needs protecting.”

 

Minghao mirrors him, so close he can feel Mingyu’s hot puffs of breath on his skin. “Yeah?” he says softly, meeting Mingyu’s gaze. “Prove it.”

 

Impossibly, Mingyu pushes in closer, so close he can count every dark lash sweeping out over brown eyes. His hand latches around Minghao’s wrist and then he’s tugging him into a bruising kiss, his other hand tangling in Minghao’s black hair. Momentarily stunned, it takes him a beat to react, but then he’s gripping Mingyu by the waist so that he can push them flush together, licking into his mouth and nipping at his lips.

 

They’re a mess of hands and lips as they do a complicated tango into Mingyu’s bedroom, Mingyu throwing him down on the bed rough enough to draw a groan from his lips. Above him Mingyu gleams in the hazy amber light streaming in from the window, ethereal, but whether he’s a devil or an angel Minghao can’t decide.

 

“I really don’t know what it is about you,” says Mingyu as he dives down over him, pressing him into the sheets with his weight and his warmth.

 

Minghao bucks up into him, drawing a hiss when he drags his thigh between Mingyu’s legs. “I’m irresistible, clearly.”

 

Mingyu snorts and mouths at his pulse point, biting down sharply and then licking over the sting. They begin to rock, friction melting down his hard edges and lines, melting him down until he’s little more than a puddle in Mingyu’s hands. He allows Mingyu to drive the pace, riding the wave of him until he’s crashing over, feeling overwhelmed and exposed.

 

It’s more than he’s ever given to anyone but Minghao willingly hands himself over to Mingyu. It’s dizzying, like standing on the edge of a cliff and watching the wild waves below, not knowing whether the water is deep enough to cushion his weight. But with one beckoning smile and a hot touch of his hands Mingyu has him jumping over.

 

Taking the plunge, Minghao surrenders to his heart.

 

*

 

Turning up to Seventeen’s office the next morning feels like walking the line to his execution the way all eyes are on him but somehow Minghao’s not feeling too worried. In fact, now that he’s come to terms with it all, he’s feeling lighter than he has for a while. The bruises Mingyu worked onto his neck the night before still tingle and he’s never felt so pleased to be marked. To belong somewhere, with someone.

 

“Why are you looking so relaxed?” says Jun, falling into step with him.

 

Minghao shrugs. “Maybe I’ve been taking some of your poison.”

 

Jun’s eyebrows rise to his hairline but then his grin spreads, lazy and predatory across his face. He slaps Minghao on the back hard enough for it to sting. “I knew we’d get you in the end. Look at that, my boy’s all grown up and having feelings.”

 

“Shut up,” he grumbles half-heartedly, shoulder bumping into Jun’s, but he’s smiling.

 

The smile is still on his face when he saunters into Seungcheol’s office and he sees the surprise mirrored on his, Jihoon and Soonyoung’s faces. “Morning,” he says.

 

“We need to talk about what happened last night. Minghao, I appreciate your intentions but there will be consequences to what happened. The last thing we need is war. Did you even stop to think what you were doing? What possessed you?”

 

Minghao swings his gaze from Soonyoung, to Jihoon, to Seungcheol. “It’s alright, I’ll help you deal with it.”

 

They each frown in confusion. “What do you mean?” says Seungcheol, steepling his fingers even as Soonyoung’s countenance brightens.

 

Minghao huffs a laugh. “It means I’ll be sticking around.”

 

“For how long?” says Jihoon.

 

Thinking of Mingyu’s golden skin in the morning sunlight as he had slept tangled in his sheets, and the pancakes he made for breakfast, sweet and fluffy with a splash of syrup, singing a little off-key as the smell of coffee warmed the kitchen, Minghao simply smiles.

 

“Indefinitely.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually finished a fic? I swear I start so many things and then just run out of steam. This one didn't quite turn out how I wanted but every time I try to make something funny it always turns into angst... But I'm such a sucker for a good forbidden romance and unnecessary pining it can't be helped.
> 
> Also sorry for making Nu'Est the bad guys here! I promise I love them really.


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